


The Warden's Oath

by LuxaLucifer



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen, Post-Blight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-19
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:07:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3784336
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuxaLucifer/pseuds/LuxaLucifer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visitors to the Skyhold library came and went, and Fiona liked to watch them all. Especially Loghain Mac Tir.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Warden's Oath

**Author's Note:**

> I just wanted to write a fic where Loghain and Fiona meet... Past Maric/Loghain mentioned, as well as Maric/Fiona. Hope you like it!

When people came to the Skyhold library, it was to rest, to take a break. The only person who ever came by in a hurry was the Inquisitor, and even then he sometimes slowed down to kiss the Tevinter mage. Fiona liked that about the library. In some ways it reminded her of the Circle, only because of how many books there were.

Visitors came and went, and Fiona liked to watch them all. She’d hoped the King, Alistair, would come Skyhold, but he never did. He probably never would.

Instead, the Grey Warden came. Not Blackwall, who Fiona had met with the Inquisitor. He seemed like a quiet, nice enough man. No, the other one, the one she hadn’t seen in thirty years. Loghain Mac Tir. She’d glimpsed him once or twice in his grey and blue, rough voice carrying over the yard as she’d passed.

She’d never expected to see him in the library, armor exchanged for a brown tunic and trousers, as Ferelden as Fiona would expect. She watched him climb the stairs, saw the hesitation in his steps, the pull of his fingers on the rail as he hid the effort it caused him. He looked older out of uniform. More accurately, she realized, he looked his age.

His large hands scanned the bookshelves. He didn’t see her. She was happy for that. His shoulders sagged when he thought no one was looking.

She remembered the first time they’d met. He had been Teryn Loghain then. A hard man, but Maric’s friend. She’d heard rumors in Denerim back then that he’d been more. Maybe the Deep Roads said differently, maybe not. There had been a lot of sides to that man.

He’d argued against the Grey Wardens then, every inch. He’d argued with Genevieve, with the rest of them, with Maric himself. He’d looked strong in his silver plate, won at the Battle of River Dane. That was now over thirty years earlier, and he was a changed man.

Fiona was a changed woman. In that time she’d gone back to the Circle, become Grand Enchanter, and led an uprising to bring freedom to every mage. She could look back at her life and be proud of what she’d accomplished. Could he say the same?

She was engrossed in reading of her own when she felt someone move into her personal space. She looked up and her first sight was those gnarled hands, red from arthritis and marked with scars.

“Excuse me,” she said, clearing her throat.

He looked down. “I apologize,” he said gruffly. “I didn’t see you.”

He moved to the side. She set down her book. He looked back at her, realization of who she was setting in.

“It’s been a long time.”

“It has,” she said. “You come here often, don’t you?”

Up close she could see that he was wearing a locket around his neck. It settled on his chest, nestled over the loose upper ties of the tunic, where you could see a hint of thick chest hair. Who had given that to him?

“I do,” he said. “I haven’t seen you before.”

“You obviously haven’t been looking,” she said, laughing. “I spend a lot of time here.”

“Oh,” he said, shifting from foot to foot. He was wearing new boots, she noticed, not anything muddy or worn from wear. To keep the library floors nice? That was almost endearing if it was true.

“What are you reading?” she asked, peering at the book he was holding almost absentmindedly.

“That’s private,” he said instantly, face slipping into a glower. She could see a bit of the man she’d once known in him now.

“I apologize,” she said. “I was only curious.”

“It’s just some old maps,” he said, jaw working as he frowned. “Nothing anyone finds interesting but me.”

“May I see?” she asked.

For a split second she thought he was going to say no. He hesitantly handed her the book he’d been about to take from the shelf. It was old, probably salvaged from some noble’s estate and found its way, like so many others, to Skyhold by mere chance.

The maps were ancient, some of them tracing back to the Tevinter Imperium. Most of those were faded out, splotched and decayed from age. Fiona could feel Loghain above her, watching her flip the pages with an air about him that would almost suggest nervousness. He came to the library so often- was it always to look at maps like this, to study them with an earnestness most would believe Loghain Mac Tir could not possibly possess? Fiona privately liked the idea.

“Can I have it back?” he asked.

She’d been staring at the same spot for some time, thinking about him. She cleared her throat and handed it back. “Thank you,” she said. “I can see why you like it so much.”

He straightened his back slightly, shifting his feet. The locket around his neck glinted in the reflection of the lantern by Fiona’s side.

“What’s that from?” she asked despite herself, gesturing to the locket.

“A little much, aren’t you?” he said, raising an eyebrow. If Fiona didn’t know better she’d say there was a hint of a smile in that craggy face.

“I’m sorry,” she said, a little sheepishly. Even after all these years her curiosity sometimes got the better of her. “It’s very interesting, is all.”

“When you take the Joining,” said Loghain. “They put some of the blood used in a locket-”

“Yes, I remember,” she said. “I was a Warden once as well.”

He rolled his eyes. “You asked.”

“So they made you one? I don’t know what happened to mine,” she admitted. “Lost long ago, I suppose. A lot’s happened since I went through my own Joining.”

“This is the Hero of Ferelden’s,” he said. “There was no time for one to be made for me, so she gave me hers. An admirable woman.”

“She sounds like it,” said Fiona. “Not many would…” She paused, unable to think of a way to phrase what she was thinking without sounding blunt or cruel.

“Give me anything, let alone a personal keepsake?” he said. “No, I suppose not many would. She had more kindness in her than anyone I’ve ever met. Still does, I’m sure, wherever she is.”

He began to walk away, but she felt another question bursting from the inside, demanding to be let out. “Do you miss him?” she asked.

He turned back. Now it was his eyes that looked old. “I do. I miss him the same way you must. I loved him.”

He didn’t stay like usual, climbing down the stairs with his book, and Fiona sat dumbstruck, worried he’d never return, that she’d scared him from his favorite haunt. She hadn’t, however, and he did his best to smile at her whenever their eyes met.


End file.
